


Chips

by spicyYeet



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: :(, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, M/M, i like my liver, i wanna die, nah jk, please help me, wish i were mitchell drinkin everythin away haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyYeet/pseuds/spicyYeet
Summary: Gideon finds Mitchell in his room one night, and he's eating chips that smell like death, but he also finds a little surprise under the bed...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> um hi i said i wouldnt be doing another multi-chapter fanfiction thing because the last one i did i never finished but i guess im going to try again but if it dies randomly please dont be surprised ok like im sorry i just liKE CA N T stay in a straight line i think i have adhd or add or smth like that idk
> 
> i love writing for dead fandoms :^)

"Fuck me Mitchell, what is that god awful smell?"

  
"Chips."

  
"Ch--?"

  
_Crunch. Crunch crunch crunch._

  
"...Where did you get--"

  
_Crunch. Crunch crunch crunch._

  
"Mi--"

  
_Cruuuunnncnch._

  
"MITCHELL for FUCK'S SAKE," Gideon spat out faster than the force of a thousand suns, just before Mitchell could start obnoxiously crunching again. He sat down beside Mitchell on the bed, as he had just dropped in for a visit, since they had just gone on a mission, and it wasn't one that had gotten along with Mitchell too very well. Mitchell, unfortunately, but fortunately for him, was still recovering from some serious injuries and got some time off. Some broken ribs, severe bruising on his left side, a concussion, some minor damage to his respiratory system, which the doctors were keeping a very close eye on, bullet shots and grazes, as well as a few burns on his right arm and of course, his prosthetic had been damaged, but the doctors and mechanics had jumped right on that, so he had it now. And instead of sleeping and moping about like he usually did when he got injured, he actually seemed to be enjoying his time off, which struck Gideon as strange.

  
"Whut," Mitchell muttered through his mouthful. _Crunch crunch crunch crunch._

  
"Where the hell did you get chips, and why do they smell like fucking vinegar, garlic, rat's ass, and my dad's rotting teeth?"

  
"Dill pickle." Mitchell raised an eyebrow as he stuck another in his mouth and chomped on it. "Not... Whatever else you said. Y'want one?"

  
"Fuck no," Gideon hissed and swiped away that chip like a credit card through the scan thingy. "My breath will smell like a vulture's for years." As Gideon leaned forward a bit, the T.V.'s light caught on the bag just right, and Gideon could tell that Mitchell had almost eaten the whole bag alone. "Though it's probably way too late for you, mate. Within the next ten years, I'm not setting a toe within a 20 mile radius of you, you nasty little--"

  
_Crunch crunch crunch crunch._

  
"Oh yeah," the Brit huffed. "You never answered my question, smartass. Where did you get those chips?"

  
"Mmh, somewhere."

  
"Somewhere, eh?"

  
"Somewhere."

  
"...Wait Mitchell are you fucking drunk--"

  
"Yeah."

  
So... That's what's been keeping Mitchell perked up, huh. It made a little more sense now, but Gideon seriously was dumbfounded where Mitchell was getting all this junk food and alcohol from. So that shitty smell wasn't just the chips... Gideon wrinkled his nose and leaned down to the floor and peered under the bed. Ah, there it all was. A fucking stash like a squirrel hiding his acorns. But... All the bottles were empty. There had to have been at least fifteen... Twenty? Maybe more under there?

  
"God fucking damn, Mitchell." Gideon exclaimed breathlessly. He looked back up to the American who was watching him intently. "How in hell did you get your greedy, greasy hands on all this? And do you realize how much you've drank within the past week, mate? Or, wait, I bet your ass can't even fucking remember. From the looks of it, it looks like you're trying to kill off your last brain cell."

  
"Huh," Mitchell hummed with interest, before tilting his head back and popping in a handful of crumbs in his mouth.

  
Gideon sighed and stared at his friend for a moment, before Mitchell finally returned his gaze with a hazed and lazy one. "Mitchell, you can't keep this up, mate. You'll end up killing yourself first before a bullet on the field ever does." He raised an unamused eyebrow as he watched Mitchell continue to crunch away. "I bet your hill-billy ass isn't even listening to me, am I right?"

  
Mitchell chuckled, and then that broke into a gut laugh, which brought tears pricking to the corners of the man's eyes.

  
Alarms were going off in Gideon's head, but he couldn't tell what they were for. Mitchell was just laughing, why did that feel wrong at this moment, though? Why is Mitchell drinking so much, besides the obvious reason? Or is it because of the obvious reason? Is there something else? And WHERE on GOD'S GREEN EARTH is he GETTING ALL THIS ALCOHOL AND... CHIPS? What other kind of junk food and unhealthy drinks is he sneaking under everyone's noses?

  
"Mitchell--"

  
The said person slapped a hand on Gideon's shoulder, snorting, before he managed to chuckle and giggle out, "Hmm... I'm tired, Gid."

  
Gideon, being worried as he was, took that statement in more than one way. Maybe Mitchell just really needs some alone time... Wait wait, no. Actually, alone time is the last thing that Mitchell needs right now. He needs someone. And who is sitting right beside him? Gideon. Maybe Ilona would be more cut out for this kind of thing more so than Gideon was, but from the looks of it, Mitchell was in bad shape. He looked almost desperate, even though he looked like he wanted to be left alone and deal with it on his own. But Gideon being the hot-head he was, wasn't about to let that happen. Mitchell was not only a valuable soldier on the field, but also a good friend to Gideon, and the Brit wasn't going to just sit back and relax as Mitchell slowly destroyed himself. That isn't how things work around here. It wasn't right. No man left behind, they say. Gideon especially wasn't going to leave this man behind.

  
"Hm," Gideon hummed. "Alright, then put that nasty ass bag of chips down and lie down, eh mate?"

  
"Wait!" the American nearly shouted. "Try one of these before I do! They taste like dry pickles!"

  
"...Fine, as long as you go to sleep." Gideon sighed and furrowed his brow with a scowl. He felt like he was babysitting. Here was a grown ass man, acting like a seven year old. And Gideon had to cope with Mitchell like he was a seven year old, or things were bound to get messy. Very, very reluctantly, Gideon took one of those awful chips out from in between Mitchell's index finger and thumb. He stared at it for a long moment, before he uncertainly, still with a scowl, flicked his stormy gaze back up to Mitchell, who was watching him with a wide grin. "Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?"

  
"Just eat it! You'll like it!"

  
"God, you're such a fucking kid." Gideon popped it in his mouth as quickly as he could, hoping to god that maybe if it went down fast enough he wouldn't be able to taste it. Well, he was wrong. The moment that dried, pickle flavored potato slice hit his teeth, he could already taste it, and--

  
The Brit coughed, swallowed thickly, and grunted loudly in one breath, "Holy shit that's fuckin' nasty how are you eating those--"

  
It mostly tasted like really, really salty vinegar. It didn't taste like no fucking pickle. After eating just one, his mouth was watering. Saliava built up in his mouth faster than it did in a clogged sink. He swallowed again, and oh god now his spit and everything else in his mouth was tainted with that awful taste. His mouth was watering so bad, it felt like his tongue was starting to burn. Oh wait, no that was just because of the taste of that chip. A salute to Mitchell for eating over half a bag of those things. What a brave man. Or stupid. Somewhere in between.

  
"Aww, can big bad Giddy Widdy not handle it? Does he not like iiiiittt?" Mitchell poked his bottom lip out and cooed to the coughing male. "I thought you'd like it."

  
Stupid. Definitely stupid.

  
"Go the fuck to sleep," Gideon hissed as he took as swig of... Was that Dr. Pepper? He didn't know, nor did he care, he just wanted this taste out of his mouth.

  
"Okay, mom." Mitchell joked before he carelessly threw the bag of chips on the table and stretched, yawning like a dragon breathing fire. They don't say you have dragon's breath for nothing, you know. Especially after eating dill pickle chips. You could practically see the stench coming from Mitchell's mouth, and Gideon didn't know how he was gonna handle this. He could barely babysit his little sister for more than a couple of hours, but then... Having to babysit a drunk-off-his-ass-grown-man-that-acts-ten-and-breath-smells-like-a-cow-that's-been-rotting-for-three-weeks will probably be the end of him.

  
It's gonna be a rough few weeks...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heY heres the second chapter ya yeet i hope this doesnt turn out as shitty as its coming out please thats all i ask holy heck

_Pee pee pee pee pee pee pee pee pee pee!_

  
So, hangovers so bad that they make you feel like you've just been shit in the toilet. But also need to use the toilet. Bad. Maybe that wasn't quite the best way to describe it but it was close enough. Plus it hurt to think about it. Mouth was more dry than Death Valley, and breath smelled just as bad as a rat rotting under that hot sun. Queasy, still hella sleepy, and bladder so full to the point of bursting; that was Mitchell for you that morning.

  
He could remember nothing, he had been so hammered. He sighed through his mouth, and boy, he could feel the stench on his breath as it came out. Wrinkling his nose with an effort to roll over on his other side to face the open room, he grunted from the soreness in his ribs as they pressed painfully against the mattress under him. His feet were tangled in the blankets, as was his pillow dangling off the side of the bed. Some restless night, he supposed.

  
But what caught him off guard was the other presence in the room with him. The other male in the room with him. Mitchell blinked several times, trying to rid himself from the gunky sleep still clogging his eyes, before rubbing them furiously. He was just making sure he was awake and not hallucinating or anything like that, because there, on the other side of the table in front of the bed, was Gideon, his head propped on the knuckles of his hand, while the other was tucked in the bend of that arm, and his open mouth drooled slightly as soft snores slipped by. He was sitting crossed legged and slouching over the table, but other wise it almost looked like he was faking it. Almost. Those snores and that drool weren't fake, and Mitchell was pretty sure that he'd never seen Gideon sleep before. Peacefully, that is. The Brit's face looked magnificentally relaxed.  
Questions were floating around Mitchell's mind like vultures circle their meal. What was he doing here? Or... More importantly, what did they do? Mitchell shook his head. No no, don't wanna think about that. Probably wouldn't be able to remember anyway... Thankfully. Best if it stay that way. Forget, forget, forget.

  
Forget.

  
Mitchell sat up slowly, trying his best not to irritate his injuries much more than they already had but also trying not to make any sudden movements or he'd piss his pants. He needs to focus on keeping that irritation at a minimum while he's recovering or it will be much longer than he expected before he got back on the battlefield. Ugh, that's all he wanted. To get back out there so he wouldn't just be sitting here in his room, slouching and being depressed all the time. And it'd only been two weeks. Mitchell rubbed his hands on either side of his face, still trying to ease the pain of the ache in his head, and rid himself of the heavy sleepiness still bubbling in his mind.

  
Cautiously standing, he tip-toed his way to the bathroom and quietly shut the door. The moment it shut, he flicked the light on, which he regretted, for the sudden burst of light sent a sharp jab of pain through his skull which made him physically grimace and recoil. His hand rest on the door knob as he gently set his head against the door, biting at his lip to try and keep the small groan of despair bubbling up in his chest from his pounding head. A puff of air escaped as his hand released the knob and went to rub at Mitchell's temples. How many drinks did he have last night? Probably a lot to have this bad of a hangover. Did Gideon find Mitchell passed out? Or did he find him while Mitchell was awake? Why was Gideon still here? Did they drink together? Or did Gideon give him a lecture about how "drinking is bad for your liver and your health!!!!1!!!1!"? The latter seemed more likely, but then again, after knowing Gideon for over eight years, it's still hard to predict him at times.

  
The same questions kept spinning around Mitchell's head, making him feel dizzy. Taking another deep breath, he pulled away from the door and did his business. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth, thoroughly brushing his tongue. In fact, he brushed over his teeth at least three times. At least. He splashed some cold water on his face to try and wake up a bit more and clear the pain still throbbing irritably in his head. Today was going to be a long day. A very long day.

  
The moment he opened that door Mitchell almost pissed himself again. Gideon was standing on the other side with a scowl on his face like a snarling dog.

  
"Oh hahaha," Mitchell laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head as he leaned back away from Gideon's face that was in his. Mitchell felt so guilty for some reason. He felt like Gideon was his mother who was scolding him. "Hey, Gideon! Nice to see you so early..."

  
"Cut the shit," Gideon barked. "I found your little winter stash of nuts under your bed last night."

  
Mitchell titled his head and blinked in confusion at Gideon. Stash of nuts...?

  
"All those empty beer bottles, Mitchell." Gideon rolled his eyes with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a scoff. "You know good and well that if you want to get your ass back on that battlefield you need to stop drinking that much. You're going to ruin yourself."

  
Mitchell wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow. "And why do you care? It's my problem, not yours."

  
Gideon raised an unamused eyebrow. "You're gonna pull that shit on me, eh mate? Hmph, well, unlike you do, I actually care, and that's coming from me. That should say something, at the least."

  
"Okay..." Mitchell said slowly. He really wasn't in a mood to be scolded like a child, especially with a jabbing headache. But, just like a mother, Gideon only pressed on. Gideon didn't give two shits, he was making sure that he was drilling his words into Mitchell's head. "I understand, but... Don't you think you're overreacting a bit? It was just a few beers."

  
With a snort, Gideon turned on his heel and made his way over to Mitchell's bed, and Mitchell felt a small pang of a flush on his cheeks and panic for some reason. He watched in guilt as Gideon got on his hands and knees and swiped at least ten empty bottles out. Gideon sat on his knees and scooped them all into his arms and sauntered back over to Mitchell. He lifted one to his face with one hand, while the other arm tightly embraced the rest of them snug against his chest. "And this isn't even all. There's still more under there. Care for me to go get them for you, mate?"

  
"I was just--"

  
Gideon interrupted Mitchell with a scoff.

  
"Alright alright!" Mitchell gave in, waving his hands in surrender. "Maybe I did drink too much over... The past week... Two weeks? How long have I been cooped up in here, again?"

  
"You can't even fucking remember how much time has passed," Gideon hissed. "You've got a problem, is what it is. This is way too much to drink within two weeks. Fuck me, Ilona is more fitted for this kind of thing, but you looked fucking miserable last night. You were eating shitty chips and nearly ate the whole goddamned bag alone. WHILE drunk. Oh! And where the hell did you find all these drinks and where the absolute FUCK did you get those chips?"

  
"Ma sends them to me through the mail every now and then," Mitchell cleared his throat awkwardly. "And... I dunno, I can't remember where I get those."

  
"Out of the eight years I've know you," Gideon began. "This by far is the worst I've seen you. You're injured severely, and you're sitting here, in your room, all alone, drinking yourself to death. How long has this been going on, mate?"

  
Mitchell couldn't help but notice the slight shift in Gideon's voice, and the lack of cursing. He swallowed thickly. There was no point in hiding it from Gideon, because Mitchell already knew there was no stopping the Brit from helping now. "Ever since Will died... And when you left me and Ilona it got progressively worse, and more so when Cormack died and I killed Irons." Mitchell suddenly felt sick. His stomach churned and he held down the acidic hiccup in his chest. He covered his mouth with his hand, just in case.  
It was deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Mitchell was trying to keep the burning in his throat from coming up all over the place while he stared nervously at Gideon, who wouldn't meet his gaze.

  
"Will you uh," Mitchell struggled, gulping before speaking again. "Will you excuse me for a second?" The American didn't wait for a response from Gideon before he hastily turned around and got to his knees in front of the toilet and he let it all go. He gripped the sides of the toilet tightly, for he didn't think it'd come out that aggressively. He felt it rake at his insides before it came up once more. He sputtered and coughed while he had the chance, but it was quickly interrupted.

  
Mitchell jolted when he felt hands on the back of his head while he was catching a breath, and Gideon's soothing voice reassured him that he was just pulling his hair back. Ever since Irons was killed, Mitchell had not cut his hair since then. It'd been a couple of years, but Mitchell's hair went from a nicely cut dog, to a black mop. He kind of liked it because he could pull his hair back in a small bun, which looked nice. Though it sounds weird, Mitchell rocked that shit.

  
Mitchell managed a smile at the generous gesture before he hiccuped, burped, and threw up again. His senses were fuzzy, but he could have swore Gideon said something when he rubbed his hand on Mitchell's back. Something like, "Easy, mate. We'll get through it."

  
Huh, he said "we".

 

  
"Buuuurgh..."

  
"Fuck me, why do you sleep so heavily? Get up, sleeping beauty. You need something on your stomach after all that. You've had your nap now please just fucking get up and I promise I'll bring you left over breakfast."

  
A nudge but no budge.

  
"Oh my fucking god."

  
_Slap._

  
"OW what the hell Gideon?" Mitchell held his cheek with his hand, sneering at Gideon as he sat up slightly.

  
"Oh, so now you're awake. Strange, because I could have swore I heard you tell me to fuck off just a couple minutes ago. C'mon, you've slept for four hours and you haven't eaten anything all day. Don't you dare eat those fucking chips, though. I'm throwing those away."

  
"Aww," Mitchell pouted playfully, although his voice was husky and hoarse, the obvious cause from him throwing up and then sleeping afterward. "But they're my favorite. Plus my Ma gave me those..."

  
Gideon held Mitchell's gaze for a moment, and gave in with a huff. "Fine. But don't fucking eat them around me, got it? They smell like the embodiment of death. I'm gone, now. I'm taking all your bottles and I'll be back with breakfast."

  
"Thanks babe," Mitchell joked with a snicker, throwing Gideon a bird while he was at it.

  
"... _Actually_ I think I'll just stay--"

  
"Okay okay! Why can't you take a joke, jeez? Get!" Mitchell shooed him away with his hands. Gideon swiped up all the empty bottles and surprisingly managed to open the door and stepped out and pulled the door shut skillfully with his foot. Once the door clicked shut, Mitchell plopped his head back on the pillow with a puff of air from his blown up cheeks. It was barely even noon time, and Mitchell already felt like he'd been out on the battlefield for two days and back. He felt unusually numb, but maybe that was just the pain killers and that cream he puts on his burns he took before he passed out. Throwing his guts up made his injuries flare up, and for almost an hour, Mitchell was in and out of it from the pain, but also a bit from dehydration. Alcohol can be dehydrating, but then throwing up like he did? Oh yeah, you bet he drank a lot of bottled waters from his small fridge by his bed. The dehydration had made his headache worse, too, and he was sure he was starting to worry Gideon at some point, but he couldn't quite remember when. After that nap he felt like he was in a totally different year. Man, sleeping for two years sounds nice...

  
"Boom bitch I'm fuckin' back."

  
Mitchell muttered under his breath, chuckling to himself.

  
"Here's your breakfast, fuckwit. I got some weird ass looks when walking with all those bottles, but little do they know that was all actually fucking you." Gideon set down a tray with a biscuit, an apple, some milk, and gravy. Not much, but that's what Mitchell got for sleeping in. Gideon plopped down beside Mitchell as he crossed his arms and legs and leaned back against the wall. "Lunch should be ready around one, so if that doesn't fill you, then you're coming with me, because you really need something more than that on your stomach."

  
The moment Mitchell picked up the apple, he stared at it for a moment, and his stomach was already starting to protest. He furrowed his brow and continued to stare at it. He swallowed thickly.

  
"You okay, mate?" Gideon asked, tilting his head at Mitchell when the latter glanced back at him, then back at the apple. "If you don't like apples you can just--"  
"No no," Mitchell shook his head. "It's not that."

  
You could almost see the question marks floating above Gideon's head. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mitchell waved it away. "Shh! Just give me a minute."

  
Gideon was giving Mitchell the weirdest look, it was almost laughable. After a minute, Mitchell finally took a chunk, and slowly started to chew, and maybe a minute after that he was wolfing down his food. Mitchell could feel Gideon watching him with a mild amusement, but he chose to ignore the stormy eyes boring into his back.

  
"Say, Mitchell," Gideon started slowly. "Shouldn't you see the doctors about your respiratory system? Since you threw up this morning, that could have thrown something off in there. And you should slow down, you're gonna fucking choke. Just a suggestion."

  
Mitchell threw his head back and chugged that rather large carton of milk faster than he did that water. When he gulped down the last bit, he let out a loud huff and set the carton back on the tray. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to Gideon. "I probably should. But I don't feel like it." He smirked.

  
"You never do." Gideon stood and gently slapped Mitchell's shoulder. "Get up and get dressed, we're gonna drop by just in case."

  
"If I have to," Mitchell grumbled playfully.

  
"You do because I said so."

 

  
After Mitchell cleaned himself up a bit, he fixed his poorly done man-bun that Gideon did, and made it a neat kind of messy. A messy that looked good. He didn't bother shaving, because he was just going to come right back, hopefully. Now, here's the fun part: Mitchell couldn't quite get his shirt off because of the knives of pain that stabbed in his chest and side. Oh fuck, he really didn't want to ask for help. Maybe he should just go like this, no one would notice that these were his pajamas. Or... okay, they would definitely notice. But haha, who cares, right?

  
"Oi, you better not go out dressed like that, idiot! Then you'd really look like a fucking drunk."

  
Gideon cares, apparently. God, Gideon was such a mom and Mitchell kinda hated it but it was pretty funny at the same time. Mitchell cursed under his breath and tilted his head up to the light above him and muttered irritably under his breath, "Just fucking kill me already, goddamn." Huffing, he drew in a breath and yelled to Gideon, "We're having some difficulties! You know... With my injuries and all? Or did you forget? I'm going how I'm fucking dressed."

  
Gideon practically kicked open the bathroom door and wrinkled his nose at Mitchell. "Does this seven year old need help from Mama?"

  
"No because he is JUST FINE the way he is," Mitchell grumbled jokingly. "My booboos just hurt."

  
"Mama's here to help," Gideon cooed before he threw a black t-shirt and blue jeans at Mitchell and sauntered into the bathroom. "Grabbed what I found, so put it on. Or if you can't just say the word and Mama will come to your rescue."

  
"...You're gonna stand there while I'm changing?"

  
"Well yeah," Gideon raised an eyebrow. "We're both men here, mate. Plus there's no point in leaving if you need me. Why? Are you shyy?" The Brit cooed at Mitchell again with an evil grin.

  
"No fucking shit," Mitchell scoffed. "...Whatever, you're obviously not gonna leave even if I shoved you out of here. Plus I can't, anyways." Reluctantly and hesitantly, Mitchell started to shred himself of his sweat pants, and the moment his fingers dipped under the hem the atmosphere dropped like a fucking bomb. Mitchell didn't particularly like the way Gideon was standing so fucking close, so he subtly scooted away and very hastily took off his sweats and hopped in his jeans, which made his abdomen flare up again. He sucked in a sharp breath between his gritted teeth.

  
"Aye, slow it down," Gideon ordered. "Don't hurt yourself, for fuck's sake."

  
Mitchell grumbled a small string of curses under his breath as he zipped and buttoned himself up. Now he just had to--

  
"OOOOHH FUCK no no no no no no," Mitchell protested the moment his arms started to lift up over his head with his shirt in tow. A deep ache started to throb in his chest, and his side felt like it was screaming. "No nope, not doing that, we're going now."

  
"Uhm, I don't think so?" Gideon put a hand on Mitchell's shoulder to stop him from getting out of the bathroom. "You're changing out of that nasty ass smellin' shirt before you set foot out of here. Let me help you."

  
Mitchell felt a deep flush rise up his chest and neck, but he managed to keep most of it from rising to his face and keep a sneer on it to cover that blood rushing to his face. But it probably was so painfully obvious along his neck, because he could practically feel the heat radiating. Why was he so embarrassed in the first place? It's Gideon. You know, his best friend? A person he's known for more than eight years? "Fine, alright." Was all Mitchell said before he clamped his mouth shut again.

  
Gideon wrapped his hand around Mitchell's wrists and pulled his arms up and made him hold them out in front of him, before Gideon gently hooked his fingers under the hem of Mitchell's shirt, and Mitchell jolted more out of surprise than pain when Gideon ever so gently (hopefully accidentally) brushed the back of his hand against Mitchell's hip, just under the large bruise. "Sorry," he'd mumbled, before he continued to cautiously lift the shirt from Mitchell's now almost bare body, except for the tight bandages around his chest. Gideon finally pulled the shirt over Mitchell's head, and removed it from Mitchell's outstretched arms. He set it on the counter before taking its replacement, and stuck Mitchell's arms through the short sleeves, and shoved Mitchell's head through afterward. The hem started to come down, but it seemed a little more slow than when Gideon had been taking off Mitchell's shirt.

  
"Um, I think I'm good now..."

  
"Oh," Gideon blinked and let go of the shirt, which flopped down to meet Mitchell's pants. "Uh sorry mate, it's just uh... That bruise looks bad. I didn't think it'd look like someone fucking beat you consistently in the same area for an hour."

  
"Unsightly, huh?"

  
"Yeah..."

  
Awkward silence.

  
"...So!" Gideon clapped his hands together abruptly. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

  
What was that all about?

 

 

  
Thankfully, there was no disturbances with any of the injuries, but he did have some minor dehydration, but nothing too serious. The doctors, unfortunately, made Mitchell sit in that cold ass room and drink at least five whole bottles of water, and wouldn't let him leave until he'd finished them all.

  
Leaving with a rather painfully full bladder, Mitchell met up outside the room with Gideon. Before the Brit could even open his mouth Mitchell walked past him, waddling awkwardly to the bathroom and Mitchell could have swore the damn bastard cackled.

 

 

  
Ooh, the room was so warm it felt amazing after being in that blizzard of a doctor's room. Mitchell wanted to so badly just plop on the bed but he knew better. So instead, he gently and slowly lowered himself onto the mattress and starfished himself on his back, taking up any space left on the bed. Gideon followed through the door after Mitchell, quietly pushing it shut behind him as he raised an eyebrow.

  
"I can't wait to throw myself on my bed again," Mitchell groaned with a deep sigh, only to wince because, you know... Broken ribs 'n stuff. He tilted his head to Gideon. "They gave you some more of that cream, right? I didn't think about it until after I pissed and left the building."

  
Gideon chuckled, "Yeah, mate. I got it for you." He tossed the little tube to Mitchell, who snapped his hand up and snatched the tube out of the air.

  
"Thanks."

  
"No problem."

  
A silence, of course. Not really as awkward as last time, but just... Just as tense, maybe. "So when did they say you could get back in the game?" Gideon asked, clearing his throat.

  
"...Probably in a month or two?" Mitchell shrugged. "I don't know. I just hope it goes by quick."

  
"Well things like this wouldn't happen if your dumb ass wouldn't dive in head first without thinking," the Brit snorted. "How about you listen to me next time, eh mate?"  
Mitchell rolled his eyes, but didn't make any smartass comment, because he knew Gideon was completely right. The American reached up and started to take his bun down, and somehow was surprised to find that Gideon actually did a hella nice job. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he had to accept what Gideon had just said. Pretty boys aren't always the most clever, his mother used to say. But then, there was Gideon, who was both pretty and clever.

  
At this moment, Mitchell was internally losing his shit at that last train of thought. "Uh right. I'm gonna get some more shut eye. Feel free to watch what you want on the T.V., if you're gonna stay."

  
"It's one."

  
"UUUGH."

 

  
Cold food, some bits unevenly cooked, but that was okay. It was better than nothing. Mitchell sat at a table with Gideon and Ilona, his two best friends. People he wouldn't hesitate to talk to. Who could ask for more?

  
"So, Mitchell," the Russian started slowly as she stirred her tea with a small spoon. It was almost intimidating. Wait no, scratch that, it was intimidating. "How's that recovery coming along?"

  
Before Mitchell could respond, Gideon gently slapped his hand on the table and stood, hovering over the table and said, "I'll be right back, ladies. There's some extras up there, I'm gonna grab us some before it's gone."

  
Mitchell knew good and well Gideon wasn't getting extras. Gideon was just gonna find somewhere to hide or find something to occupy him while Mitchell and Ilona talked. Goddamn that man, sometimes he was too stupid and sometimes too clever for his own good. Mitchell sighed as Gideon walked away. "He ratted me out, didn't he?"

  
Ilona raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you're talking about, no he didn't. Should I know about it?"

  
"Probably," Mitchell said as he took a chunk out of yet another apple. "That's probably why Gideon ran like a pussy."

  
"I'll have you know," Ilona started with a smirk. "That pussies are pretty strong. They can take a pounding unlike your magic wand."

  
"Like a dick, excuse me." The American rolled his eyes. "Anyway, my recovery is coming along fine, as the doctor said. But..." he cleared his throat. "Gideon... Uh, he found me in my room last night--"

  
"Wait go back a few steps," Ilona snorted. "I hope you're not talking about--"

  
Mitchell slapped his hands to his face and grumbled into them. "NO Ilona. I was drunk off my ass last night and Gideon found me. It's not whatever you were just thinking. I don't know why you think we're... Nevermind, I don't wanna say that. Alright so, before I was _very_ rudely interrupted," Mitchell shot her a playful sneer as he lowered his hands back to the table. "The goddamned man found out that I had been sneaking in alcohol and junk food for about a week or so..."

  
Ilona's eyebrows shot up. "How much have you been drinking this past week?"

  
"Uh, not sure." Mitchell shrugged. "Ask Gideon, I'm pretty sure he could tell you because I got an earful of it this morning."

  
"Then that's probably a lot," the Russian rubbed her face in what looked like concern. "I'm sure he told you that this could slow down your recovery, or worse, correct?"

  
"No. But I said that my drinking started back when..." he gulped. "Will... Will died, and got progressively worse with everything in between up until now. At this point I'm just doing it to forget and to numb."

  
Ilona frowned and reached across the table to wrap her hands around Mitchell's. Ah yes, the oldest trick up her sleeve. "Listen to me, Mitchell. I know things have been... Rough on you, far worse than Gideon or I could imagine, but you need not drink yourself to death. You're a fucking miracle, see, because you've pulled through everything you've ever went through, and you baffle Gideon and I. After we'd heard all we needed to know about you, our lives changed forever once you walked through those doors. From childhood backstory, up until the... Accident. And to this day, you still stun us with how well you coped with it all. I'll tell you, Gideon and I did have a talk about you after Irons was gone."

 

"Gideon, he's gonna be fine."

  
"I fuckin' know that, Ilona. I'm just tripping balls at how he didn't say a goddamn word the entire time we were on that mission. The most noise he fucking made were tiny little gasps that were almost inaudible. And he STILL hasn't said anything about it, and it's been almost a whole two weeks, now. I'm just..." Gideon grumbled. "I'm just worried about him."

  
Ilona frowned and stared down at her empty cup. "I used to be biting my nails like you are when I first met him. But after I saw how well he was pulling through of the loss of his closest friend, I... I don't know quite how to explain it, but I didn't feel the need to worry about him anymore. I knew he was going to be just fine. Even though little by little, I knew something was up with Irons, and seeing Mitchell so uneasy was... Nerve racking. I thought I knew him but, the moment I found I didn't know what I could do for him, I didn't know him. I didn't know my best friend.

  
"And... Especially when you sided with Irons... It was so... Terrifying to see Mitchell shut down like he did. You and I both know good and well that Mitchell has become a part of us; our stability, and when that stability starts to crumble, we fall with it. But we build it back up, in time. He's our best friend, Gideon, and although it may not seem like it, Mitchell is hurting. Badly. He needs us right now. He's not just our stability, but we're his. And we need to keep a firm ground for him right now. He lost the only thing left of his deceased friend, and he had to get rid of it himself. Just be strong for him, alright?"

 

Mitchell wouldn't meet Ilona's gaze. He couldn't hold it, for that matter. The conversation thankfully ended abruptly when Gideon plopped back down in his seat with, well look at that, a plate full of extras. He stared at Mitchell and Ilona for a long moment, glancing down at their locked hands, before he slowly said, "So, why are we holding hands now...?"

  
"No reason," Ilona smiled at the Brit gently. "We were just talking about you."

  
"I hope nothing too bad?" Gideon raised an eyebrow as he passed the tray to the middle of the table. As Mitchell looked down at his own puny tray of food that was barely touched, then glanced at that entire fucking thing, he felt sick again. Damn, what was up with him and getting queasy lately?

  
"Hopefully not," Ilona chuckled before she released Mitchell's hands and sat back, furrowing her brow at Mitchell's rather flushed face. "You alright there, Mitchell?"

  
Mitchell blinked himself out of his queasy trance. "Oh, yeah yeah. I'm fine. M'not all that hungry." He yawned but he almost immediately regretted it because it only worsened the nausea. "Uufh, ahem, I don't feel so good. Maybe I should go--"

  
"Mitchell you barely even touched your fucking food." Gideon eyed him with concern. "And you usually eat like a starving fuckin' wolf."

  
"Well you eat like a fuckin' cow," Mitchell managed to laugh. "I have never in my life seen a man eat that much in one goddamn day."

  
"Shut up, shitty face."

  
"Really? Shitty face? That the best you got? Usually you're more creative."

  
"Shut up, you fucking goddamned piece of shit that was stuck in the fucking microwave and nuked for 10 days then thrown on the goddamn ground and stepped on then shit on."

  
"That's more like it." Mitchell was really trying his damnest not to fucking puke all over the table right now. He needed to go. "Okay well, like I said, I need to take my leave unless you want me to throw up all my internal organs on you. So if you'll excuse me..." And with that, Mitchell had never ran so fucking fast down that hallway to his room. He probably looked like an idiot, dashing out of the mess hall like that, but he didn't give two shits, honestly. If someone had a problem with it, he could just throw up on them and see if they had anything else to say.

  
Bascially kicking down his door and bulldozing the bathroom door out of his path, he went straight for the toilet, and the moment he pulled that lid up, it all came out like a tidal wave. And shit, he didn't pull up his hair. Oh well, he needed a shower anyways. When it stopped after a few moments, he almost puked again when he felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders. He jolted violently and let out a tiny yelp, only to relax when he felt that familiar and rather harsh pat on the middle of his back. Mitchell hiccuped slightly before he turned his head to see Gideon, smirking with the scrunchy wrapped around his fingers and stretching it. "Forgot something, eh mate?"

  
"Be quiet!" Mitchell hissed. "I gotta concentrate." And right after he said that he was back at it again. While he was doing so, he felt strangely comforted by the feeling of Gideon running his fingers through Mitchell's black hair, pulling it back into, once more, a bun.

  
"Fuck me, why are you puking so goddamn much?" Mitchell barely heard from Gideon, who now simply rested a hand on the American's back, rubbing small, subtle circles with his thumb. "Is that even fucking healthy, mate?"

  
Mitchell chuckled.

 

  
"So... Gideon..."

  
"Hm?"

  
"When do you plan on telling the poor fella? He looks like he could hear something like that right now."

  
"Who? Mitchell?" Gideon looked up from his tablet to the Russian that sat across from him, sipping his cup of coffee like a sassy bitch. "What the fuck am I supposed to be telling?"

  
"You know."

  
"...I do?"

  
"If you don't then you're more of a dumbass than I thought."

  
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to grasping."

  
"Mitchell's dick, is what."

  
Gideon, with a mouthful of coffee, sucked in a breath so fast, he shot it all out like a canon. " _Ilona!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wouldnt it be great if you could see all the subscribers you had? idk abt you but i think it would
> 
> i lov u guys have a nice day and thanks for reading my shitty fanfictions <3  
> and please dont be afraid to point out some of my booboos tgrfe thansks


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is a short chapter sorry  
> this took forever to write bc my laptop hecking fried so now im forced to desparate measures but im determines to get this thing done and ill be damned if i let my SHITTY laptop dying stop me >:))
> 
> oh and i might soon throw up a pointless multi-chapter kiribaku >.> which might just end up being just one chapter because ive already got this one on my sweaty hands, but im trying to get myself used to multi-chapter stories so that i one day might actually finish one :'0
> 
>  
> 
> (please read the notes at the end of this chapter >.>)

"Listen, Gideon..." Cormack's pleasantly deep voice murmured. "I know, I see that Mitchell looks up to you a great deal. If something happens to me out on that field and I can't make it back, I want you and Ilona to take care of the boy. He needs you two more than you think..."  
  
Gideon had swallowed thickly, before he roughly said, "Yes sir."  
  
"Ah, son, do not call me sir." Cormack had pat the shorter male's shoulder with a chuckle. "We're all family here. Besides, it makes me feel older than I really am."  
  
"Yes s--uh, Cormack."  
  
"No matter the cost," Cormack leaned in closer as soldiers marched by. "do not let anything happen to that man. He's valuable in body and mind. Do what you need, Gideon. Do what you feel is right. And if you ever come to a time when you don't know what's best, do not try to figure it out on your own. Get Ilona to help you. No man should be ashamed to ask for help. Especially you. You have naught to be ashamed of."  
  
"I'll do what I can, Cormack."  
  
"Thata boy."  
  
That was the last one on one conversation Gideon had had with Cormack before he... Passed. The poor Brit dreamed about it and thought about it a lot, and there was just something to it that unsettled him. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, nor did he think he wanted to find out, either.  
  
Irons had just been killed when Gideon spotted Mitchell practically hanging over the edge of the fucking building, the only thing holding him up was a puny metal bar while fire flared in his face and around him, hot glowing ambers softly making the air twinkle a threatening orange. The American lay there, limp as a dead body. Sheer fear struck Gideon and seeped into his chest and bones, making him shudder before he cautiously approached his friend. Mitchell was fine, thankfully, although with a few scrapes and bruises... And a missing arm. But he was okay, and that's all that mattered to Gideon right then.  
  
Gideon leaned down and hooked an arm under Mitchell's torso, hauling him up with the other. "I've got you, mate," Gideon said gently in Mitchell's ear as he wrapped the taller male's arm around his shoulders. They stared out for a moment. Or, Gideon did, but he noticed Mitchell was staring down where he was just laying. The poor American was limp as a wet noodle, and Gideon had to encourage him some to at least move his legs.  
  
As they were going back the way they had came, the only movement Mitchell made was staring up at the large red letters that spelled "ATLAS" in front of them, and Gideon felt Mitchell's breath hitch on his neck. He looked over at Mitchell, who now stared, dead like a zombie, at the ground as tears welled up in his pretty azure eyes. Gideon was coming to a slow stop because at this point Mitchell felt like dead weight, plus he was worried. He gently set Mitchell on the ground. As the American melted into a sad sitting heep, Gideon squatted in front of Mitchell, staring him down with concern as his hands rest on the boy's shoulder. Salty tears were crawling down his face and over his jawline, before they trekked down his neck. Gideon's heart broke.  
  
"Mitchell... It's over. You're okay." A little life sparkles back into Mitchell's eyes, but he still seemed traumatized. Gideon started to rub circles on Mitchell's shoulder with his thumb. He knew this would happen but... He couldn't help but feel a deep ache, too. That was Irons... A father figure to Gideon and the last thing of Mitchell's best friend he'd had left, and they'd turned on him like a dog turning to snap your hand. But he couldn't come close to imagining how Mitchell felt.  
  
"I-I-I'm s-sorr-ry... D-Don't..."  
  
"I'm not. I'm right here. I'm here, mate." Gideon cooed to the male that was teetering on the verge of an emotional breakdown, if he wasn't having one already. He did the only thing he could think of, and that was sitting on the ground and wrapping Mitchell up in his arms, hugging him close to his chest. He rubbed his hand slowly up and down Mitchell's back, as his other hand tangled fingers in curly, sweaty black hair. He subtly started to rub his fingertips onto Mitchell's scalp as he cautiously started to rock themselves back and forth. When he felt Mitchell take a handful of his shirt, Gideon knew Mitchell was about to rupture the dam, but he kept doing what he was doing. "Let it out... You're alright."  
  
Mitchell tipped over, and it all came out at once. He didn't sqwaul like a baby, but you bet he sobbed profusely. He was strangely quiet about it, but Gideon didn't mind. He was here for Mitchell, and that was all that mattered. He admitted, hearing Mitchell so distraught made his throat clench and his eyes burn. "You're okay," the Brit whispered into the American's hair, hoping someone would come to pick them up soon, because he had a feeling Mitchell wouldn't be letting go anytime around now. "You're okay, Mitchell." Gideon's voiced cracked a bit, but he held strong. Mitchell needed someone to hold him upright, and Gideon was damned if he wasn't going to be the one. He rest his head on Mitchell's, pulling him impossibly closer. He felt like he needed to shield Mitchell, keep him safe, protect him like a mother wolf with her pups while he was so vulnerable. "You're going to be okay. We'll get through this."  
  
Huh, he said "we".  
  
The chops of helicopter blades slicing the air thumped above them as the air and dust started to pick up and whirl around. Help was here, thank god, but he couldn't find himself letting Mitchell go. He held on until he was forced to give the boy up, unfortunately. The moment they put Mitchell in the chopper, the doctors on board knocked him out cold with drugs while they nursed him on their way home. Or, what they called their home, currently.  
  
"Gideon! Get the--"  
  
Gideon jumped and blinked around wildly. That same fucking dream again. Why was it always that one? It'd already happened and gone two years ago. Why did it keep bubbling up like that? The Brit glanced around the dimly lit room, the light source coming from the window that allowed the blood red sun that melted into the horizon, leaving streaks of gold and orange along the once pure white clouds as the gentle purple of night and winking stars setting as a background, to creep in. And there, across the room from where Gideon sat in a chair, was Mitchell, out like a baby and coiled up in his blankets, soft snores escaping his slightly parted lips.  
  
He doesn't remember...  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea i wrote this on my phone it makes me want to die so please dont be afraid to point out some booboos uwu
> 
> and yes you bet i listened to some sad music while writing this thats where i get most of my inspiration from lol
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO im gonna try and start to take writing requests?? like no one requests my art which is ok cuz its nasty but maybe i can get some writing stuff in >.>  
> if you want a request dm me on insta @turkeyboingboing or discord @leg of goat#0227

**Author's Note:**

> this originally was supposed to be some short fluff but my dumbass decided otherwise :))


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